


Please (Use Me Up)

by DyslexicSquirrel



Series: Salvation [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Gay For You, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 06:39:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19740280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyslexicSquirrel/pseuds/DyslexicSquirrel
Summary: Steve picks up a guy at a bar and brings him home. He just doesn’t know why, because he’s never been interested in men before. Maybe it’s just a rebound thing?Or: the one where Bucky is a sucubus





	Please (Use Me Up)

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of this came to me when I kept seeing this post on Tumblr about whether someone was an incubus or a sucubus shouldn’t have anything to do with sex/gender, but whether someone was a Top or a Bottom because of the Latin roots of the two words lol 
> 
> So, sucubus Bucky was born. 
> 
> Title is from a Hanson song (one of my favorite Hanson songs). It actually kind of makes me think more of Tony, but the title seemed to fit this fic to me.

It started with the accidental brush of his hand against my skin. 

Clint and Sam dragged me to this bar, kicking and screaming (metaphorically speaking). I hadn’t gone out since Peggy and I broke up, they said. I was spending too much time at work, they cajoled when I tried to make excuses. I was going to end up an old grumpy man, living alone in my house, yelling at kids to get off my lawn. That last from Clint because he thought he was funny. 

But they did have a point. I’d never been much of a social butterfly, but I went out with friends. I did things; I went places. Of course, the last few years almost every place and every thing I did was with Peggy. I didn’t expect her to become such a figure in my life when I showed up at that blind date. My coworker Natasha thought we would get along. “You’re both into doing the same boring stuff,” she said with a smirk, fingers flying over her phone’s keyboard to text my the details. 

My hobbies being described as ‘boring’ by a woman who went base jumping and rock climbing wasn’t as bad as it sounded. I just happened to enjoy going to museums in my spare time and I liked to read. I went running a lot, a hold over from middle and high school track, because I liked activities that got my heart rate up to involve both my feet being close to the ground. 

Well, most of them. I was as red-blooded as the next guy and I liked sex. And sometimes that involved getting horizontal. Not always, but that wasn’t the point. 

Peg had been a surprise. She was beautiful, I hadn’t thought Nat would lie about that, with her dark hair and her golden brown eyes. She was confident and sexy in an understated way and I had instantly been drawn to that. But what was more was that she hadn’t been put off by how awkward I was. She thought it was cute. 

Things had moved fast, and before I knew it, Peg had moved into my house and we had an orange tabby named Goose and we were talking about getting married. Now, it was just me and Goose and Peggy was gone. “I miss her, too, bud,” I’d tell him all the time, scratching behind his ear. I should probably take it as a sign that I talked to my cat more often than anyone else these days. 

So, Clint and Sam finally convinced me to join them at this bar, some hole in the wall place in Brooklyn that ended up in some online article as one of America’s 50 best dive bars or something and Sam said they  _ had _ to go and I needed to come with them because I, and I quote, “only have so much time before your good looks will fade. And then what are you gonna do?” 

Thanks for that, dude. Really appreciate it, Sam. 

But it had worked. Not because I was worried I’d get old and end up alone, but because I couldn’t keep moping about a relationship that was well and truly over. Peggy moved back to England to take care of her ailing parents and I hadn’t been willing to uproot my entire life to go with her. That should tell me something. If I couldn’t leave everything I knew for the woman I had been considering marrying, did we really have a future? 

The obvious answer to that question was no, because I was here and she was there and we hadn’t so much as texted in months. 

That was how I found myself at this definitive dive bar with its dark wood paneling, pool tables and icicle lights hanging from the ceiling even though it wasn’t anywhere close to Christmas. They also had the most attractive bartender I had ever seen. Which was weird. 

Not that the bartender was attractive or that I was attracted to someone who was a bartender. It was finding this specific bartender so attractive because the bartender was a man. I had found men attractive in an aesthetic way before—I was an artist, so it came with the territory; I saw most people as the lines and curves I could put down on paper. But I hadn’t ever even felt bi-curious. I dated women; I slept with women. That was just… it.

But this man? My eyes were drawn to him as soon as I followed Sam and Clint through the door. He was standing behind the bar in a tight, blue t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up over his biceps, long brown hair up in a messy bun, eyes some mix between blue and gray that I shouldn’t have been able to make out from where I was, but they seemed to almost glow. I had an overwhelming urge to run my fingers along the scruff on his cheeks. 

I was pulled from my reverie when Clint clapped me on the shoulder. “You pay, dude.” 

With some difficulty, I pulled my gaze away from the bartender to frown at Clint. “Why? It wasn’t my idea to come here.” 

“You make more money than us, man,” Sam said. “Do us a solid. Scott and I just moved into a new place.” 

“Plus, you haven’t hung with us in a while. It’s your turn,” Clint added. They both looked at me with expectantly raised eyebrows. 

I rolled my eyes. “Fine.” 

And that was how I ended up standing at the bar ordering a pitcher of beer and how the bartender I shouldn’t be attracted to but was brushed his fingers against my hand when he took my card to start a tab. It felt like an electrical current shot up my arm. I sucked in a breath that shouldn’t have been audible over the din in the room, but his unnerving eyes flicked up to mine, looking at me through impossibly long lashes, a smile curving up one corner of his plush mouth. 

I wanted to draw him. I wanted to do other things. I wanted to do everything. 

He pulled the card from my fingers and turned toward the register. My eyes dipped down to check out his ass without any authorization from my brain. But I couldn’t even be upset with my wayward eyes because encased in dark wash skinny jeans? His ass was a work of art. And I suspected he knew what I had been doing by the way his eyes were shining like he was laughing at me when he turned back around. 

His brows slowly climbed his forehead and I got with the program a little late, realizing he was trying to give my card back. I cleared my throat and took it, sliding it back into my wallet. I looked away while I shoved the wallet into my back pocket with more force than necessary. When I shored myself up enough to look at him again, I was hit with the burning  _ want  _ all over again. 

The bartender (I really wanted to know his name) wasn’t looking back and I felt disappointed—like I was being dismissed. At least if he wanted me back I wouldn’t feel so off balance—I wouldn’t have been alone in my desire. But maybe it was better this way? What did I really think was going to happen here? I was going to start experimenting with my sexuality, during what was essentially a rebound, with a stranger and probably a one night stand? I’d never had one before; this was not really the time or place. Or the person. 

Those blue gray eyes flicked to mine then back to the pitcher he was filling. “I’ll bring it over. I think your friends are getting anxious to start their game.” 

“Hmm?” I looked over my shoulder and sure enough Clint and Sam had claimed a pool table and they weren’t bothering to hide their impatience. I rolled my eyes. When I looked back at the bartender, the pitcher was almost full. “If you’re sure. I mean, I can wait.” 

“It’s what I get paid for, gorgeous. Go on,” he told me with a tip of his head toward Sam and Clint, setting the now full pitcher down on the bar and retrieving a tray. 

Hearing him call me ‘gorgeous’ flustered me more than I wanted to admit and I nodded dumbly before walking away to join my friends. They were both looking at me oddly when I got to the table and grabbed a cue off the rack on the wall.

“What?” It came out more defensive than I meant and I leaned down to break. The one who buys the rounds always takes the first shot. I tapped the cue ball and it rolled, scattering the racked balls across the felt. One of the striped ones sank into a corner pocket and I rounded the table to line up my next shot. 

“Nothing, man,” Sam said. “Just… you okay?” 

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?” I was pulling the cue back to take my next shot and made the mistake of glancing up. Bartender was walking over, tray in hand, and the way his hips moved as he walked distracted me. I flubbed the shot, sending the cue ball bouncing off the table. It rolled across the hardwood and got stopped by a black motorcycle boot. When I let my eyes climb up the body that boot was attached to—long legs, a tantalizing peek of a toned midsection between the hem of the T-shirt and the waistband of the jeans—and get to his face, he’s smirking at me. I swallowed, hard, standing up straight. 

Bartender (I  _ seriously _ need to get his name) somehow managed to bend down and retrieve the cue ball while balancing the tray—laden with pitcher and three glasses—on the one hand without spilling a drop. Damn. For some reason that was really hot. 

The tray gets set on one of the high top tables nearby and the bartender walked up to me, stopping with barely a foot between us. The way he held the cue ball out to me made me think of CCD classes as a kid. The story about the serpent offering Eve the apple. That white orb rested negligently in the other man’s hand, and I felt as if something shifted when I accepted it, dragging the tips of my fingers against his palm. Those otherworldly eyes lit up at the contact. 

“Let me know if you boys need anything else,” he said, voice huskier than before, all his attention focused squarely on me before he spun on his heel and went back to the bar. I don’t think it was conceited to think the extra sway of his hips was for me. I just couldn’t understand why I liked it. 

“Uh,” Clint said. “What the fuck was that?” 

“I think our boy just got hit on,” Sam said, sounding amused. When I looked over at him, he was holding one of the coasters aloft between two of his fingers. “If I wasn’t already taken, I’d hit that.” 

I snatched it away from him and saw a scrawled message across one side. The handwriting reminded me of the bartender for some reason so I would have known the message was from him, even if the guy hadn’t been the one to bring the tray over. 

_ I get off at 12 -Bucky  _

Bucky. His name was Bucky. 

* * *

Clint and Sam had engaged in some good natured teasing until they realized I wasn’t reacting to it like I normally would. I wasn’t really reacting at all. I just kept thinking about what was going to happen at midnight when Bucky got off work. 

Or more accurately what I was going to  _ do  _ about the fact that Bucky was getting off work at midnight and thought he needed to let me know. I had paid for the pitchers of beer that mostly my two friends drank, delivered by either Bucky or the other bartender who showed up a few hours after we arrived—a petite, curvy brunette with glasses. I’d barely spared her a glance even though any other day she would have turned my head. Clint sure seemed enamoured, though. 

No one else was as captivating as Bucky was to me right then. I still didn’t understand it at all, but I wasn’t sure I cared anymore. Bucky and I had played a game the whole evening, him sending me flirty looks and me trying not to trip over my feet or lose too badly at pool. 

Hadn’t really succeeded at either. 

I still hadn’t been sure what I was going to do until I found myself shoving a drunk Clint and Sam in a cab and not climbing in behind them. My friends were understandably a bit confused seeing as I’d never show interest in men before, but too drunk to really try to talk me out of doing something stupid.

They weren’t dumb though despite being three sheets to the wind. “Go get him, tiger,” Clint said, with a growl, making a clawing motion with his hand before he and Sam collapsed against each other in the back of the cab, cackling. 

I shut the door on their antics and handed a wad of cash at the cabbie through the open front passenger window, giving him Clint’s address. Sam could sleep on Clint’s couch. It’s what usually happened when they went out—they ended up at whoever’s place was closest, even if it pissed Scott off. I sent the cab off with a pat to the roof and went back inside before I could second guess. 

The bar was open until 2am and there were still a good number of people inside. Bucky looked over when I walked through the door, a smile breaking over his face as he said something to the guy he was serving. He tipped his chin at me and went back to work while I settled on a stool at the end of the bar. 

“What’ll it be?” The other bartender was standing in front of me. I hadn’t even realized she was there until she spoke. 

“Water, please.” 

“Trying to sober up before heading home?” She was trying to be friendly, brows raised slightly, smiling a little, while she grabbed a glass and filled it with ice and water. 

“Sure.” I didn’t like lying as a rule, but didn’t know what else to say.  _ I’m not drunk, just waiting for your ridiculously hot coworker over there to finish ah his shift so that we can… _

See I didn’t even know how to finish that sentence. A little white lie was better than trying to muddle my way through anything. Plus, I didn’t really want to dump any of this on someone Bucky worked with. 

She smiles at me and said, “I’m Darcy. Let me know if I can get you anything else.” 

I nodded, sipping slowly at the water in my glass. I kept glancing at my watch, counting down the minutes and then, exactly as the hands landed on the twelve, I looked up and found Bucky looking at me. He held up a finger, universal sign for “Just give me a minute,” and felt panicked after he disappeared into a back room. 

What the hell was I doing? This was a bad idea. I was not this person. I did not pick up strangers at bars, especially not strange  _ men _ at bars, and do whatever the hell I was about to do with Bucky. 

I was half standing from the stool when he came back out, finishing sliding on a leather jacket, and holding a helmet in one hand. He prowled toward where I was still awkwardly hunched over—it was really the only way to describe how he moved—and placed his empty hand over mind where it rested on the bar. “You live close by?” 

Dumbly, I shook my head, feeling that electrical tingle go up my arms again, making the hairs on my body stand on end. I shivered when he leaned in close to whisper in my ear. “You live alone?” 

I nodded, might have mumbled something in the affirmative. Goose didn’t count as a roommate right? Should I tell him about that before hand? What if he was allergic to cats? 

But his hand moved up my arm, over to my chest and bunched the material of my polo shirt in his hand. “Let’s get out of here, then.” 

“Okay.” 

* * *

Sitting behind Bucky on his motorcycle, the helmet strapped firmly over my head—I’d tried arguing about taking it, but Bucky just insisted that I needed it more than he did—I held on tight to Bucky’s lean waist as he effortlessly maneuvered the bike through traffic, heading out of the city. 

When I had been looking for a house, I started looking in the burbs because I wanted more land than I could afford (or really find) in most parts of NYC, even on my salary. The place had been a fixer-upper, but I fell in love with its bones. It was old, with most of its original hardwood floors, and there was a fireplace in the living room and the master bedroom upstairs that still worked. I’d fixed the place up for the better part of a year, hiring contractors to do the work I wasn’t capable of. 

Everything I could restore, had been. The crown molding, the built in fixtures that peppered the inside of the house, the tile work in the bathrooms and kitchen. I loved the house. I apparently had loved it more than Peggy because if I was honest? It was a big part of why I hadn’t wanted to leave. My blood and sweat were in that house; it was a part of me as much as I was a part of it and it felt like  _ home.  _ I didn’t know if I’d find that anywhere else. 

It was a good thirty minute drive even this time of night, but the miles seemed to fly by and then Bucky was pulling into my driveway. I climbed off the bike on shaky legs and took the helmet off, again questioning what I was even doing. 

Bucky shut the bike off, swinging his leg over the machine, all lithe grace and my eyes ate up his long limbs and lean body. He was built, I knew because I’d had my arms around him the whole way here, but he was a little less bulky than I was—not that I was some body builder or anything. It was odd, but also alluring, feeling the more masculine shape of him beneath my hands. 

Bucky took the helmet from my hand, leaving it to hang off one of the handle bars, and took my hand in his. It was strange having someone lead me to my own front door. We paused in front of it, him obviously waiting for me to unlock the door and let him in. Was I really doing this? 

Apparently, I was because I found myself digging my keys from my pocket and sliding it home into the lock. My hand was in the middle of turning the knob when I paused and turned my head in Bucky’s direction. “I’m Steve, by the way.” 

Bucky smiled, the glow from the light beside the door illuminating part of his feature and casting others in shadows. “I know,” he said, putting his hand over mind to open the door. He walked in like he owned the place. 

I frowned, stepping in behind him, and locking the door behind me. Bucky shed his coat, hanging it on one of the hooks by the door, before going off his boots. I was oddly touched by his consideration. I had to brow beat Sam and Clint to take their shoes off when they came over. He hands his own coat up and puts his shoes in one of the cubbies by the door. 

“How do you know my name?” 

“I saw your credit card, Stevie,” he said, a playful smile on his face as he walked backwards, heading deeper into the house. I was glad I had left a light on before I went out because I’m not sure I would have had the presence of mind to not simply stumble around in the dark. I followed after him helplessly. The way he said my name made something inside me get tight. 

“Oh,” I said inanely. That made sense. I should have thought of that, but most of the blood in my head had fled south on the drive over here. I was half hard already and Bucky and I had barely touched. 

“This is a nice house,” Bucky said, running a finger along the mantle and glancing at me over his shoulder. 

“Thanks.” I stood in the middle of my living room, watching as he inspected pictures and books, caressing the woodwork. My breathing started to pick up at the sight of those nimble fingers smoothing over a part of my house I had sanded and stained myself. I liked the look of him in my house. He seemed to for?

_ Stop thinking nonsense. You don’t know this guy. This isn’t a  _ date _. You’ll... have sex and then he’ll leave and that’ll be that.  _

With that thought in mind, I walked up behind him and turned him to face me with a hand on his shoulder. He leaned back against the bookcase behind him, and looked up at me. He wasn’t that much shorter than me, maybe a couple inches, but he managed to position himself in such a way that he looked smaller while showing off his body. How he managed it, I didn’t know. 

I reached out a hand, slowly like I thought he would disappear if I moved to fast, and ran my fingers along his stubble covered cheek the way I had wanted to earlier. He leaned into the touch and I confessed, “I’ve never done this before.” 

He cocked an eyebrow, running a hand up my chest, to my shoulder, before curling behind my neck. He played with the hair at my nape. “And by ‘this’ you mean?” 

“I’ve never been with another man before,” I murmured. My head started to dip closer to his. 

“Hmm, yeah, I hear that a lot,” he whispered back, before our lips touched. His hand clenched in my hair and he let the built in behind him support more of his weight as I shuffled closer, erasing the space between our bodies. I groaned into his mouth, using the hold I still had on his face to angle his head and deepen the kiss. He opened for me, tongue welcoming mine past his lips. 

My other arms snaked around his waist, pulling our lower bodies even closer and I was revealing in his panting breaths and the way he rolled his hips, rubbing our denim covered erections together. He pulled back, enough to speak, the words vibrating against my lips. “Steve?” 

“Yeah, Buck?” I rested our foreheads together trying to not resent the fact that we weren’t kissing anymore. This was so much different from every sexual encounter I’ve ever had, but it also felt so right. Was it something about Bucky, I wondered? 

Bucky leaned in, taking my lower lip between his teeth. When he released it, he said, “Take me to bed, Steve.” 

Oh. Hell. Yes. My mind might still be on the fence, but the rest of me was on board. I stepped back, grabbing his wrist, and dragged him toward the stairs. The sound of his laughter floated around us and we climbed the stairs. 

I pushed the partially ajar door to my room open and flipped the switch by the door. The lamp beside my bed flared to life, revealing a disgruntled Goose curled up in the middle of the mattress. He blinked lazy eyes at me and when Bucky moved to squeeze past where I was paused in the doorway, Goose’s eyes turned to him. Goose arched his back and hissed. I’d never seen him react to someone like that before. 

Bucky froze. “I didn’t know you had a cat.” 

“Are you allergic or something?” I walked toward the bed as I spoke and scooped Goose up. He was all puffed up and growling his eyes never leaving Bucky, who moved aside warily when I went to drop Goose out in the hall and close the door. 

“No, cats just don’t like me much.” He rubbed his forehead, one hand resting on his hip. Well, that was a mood killer. 

“He usually likes everyone,” I told him, frowning. 

“Sorry,” he said after another moment of silence while I fidget, unsure what to do now that my head is clearing a little. His eyes go to mine and he smiles and just like that my shoulders relax. “Where were we?” 

“Um.”  _ So articulate, Rogers.  _ I rest my hands on his hips, my eyes going half mast when he starts to run his hands underneath my t-shirt. “I, uh, I’m not really sure. Like I said, I’ve never—“

Bucky cuts me off with his lips, pushing me toward the bed. My ass hits the mattress when my knees bump into it, his lips not leaving mine. He climbs up on the bed, one knee on either side of my hips, and pushes until I’m lying on my back. “It’s okay. I have enough experience for the both of us.” 

With that pronouncement, Bucky sits back and pulls his shirt over his head. Except for a trail leading from his belly button and disappearing into his jeans, his chest is hairless. An expanse of pale skin over defined muscles. Sitting up, I reached out to run my hands along all that he had put on display, pressing small bites to his neck when his head tipped back. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I admit I to the crook of his neck. And after I said that, it occurred to me that  _ he _ might be expecting to fuck  _ me _ . He was currently sitting on top of me. I didn’t know what the dynamic was here. “Do you… give or receive?” Jesus H. Christ, I sounded like an idiot and I winced. 

Luckily, Bucky just laughed. “I’m pretty exclusively a bottom, Stevie. Don’t worry about that.” His eyes glittered as he looked down at me, and he rocked against me. Leaning over until our cheeks were pressed together, he whispered in my ear, “And I cannot  _ wait  _ to feel your big cock inside me, baby.”

I moaned when his teeth sunk into my ear. He really liked to bite, I was learning. “Okay, well, then let me say it again: I don’t want to hurt you. I haven’t, uh, with any of my partners…” 

Bucky pulled back, his face momentarily serious. “Never had anal sex before?” 

I shook my head. Hadn’t been something I was more than mildly curious about and none of my girls friends had been interested, so I hadn’t ever had the chance. I had seen it in porn a few times, but porn was not real life and I didn’t know the finer points of prepping someone. Not to brag—I wasn’t Ron Jeremy or anything—but my dick wasn’t exactly small.

“You’re sweet.” He pressed a brief kiss to my lips and stood. Reaching into his pocket he pulled something out and tossed it on the bed by my hip. I looked down and saw that it was a travel thing of lube and condoms. I felt my face flush because I hadn’t even thought about lube. My head snapped back around when I heard the distinctive sound of a belt buckle being undone. Bucky winked, popped the button on his jeans and lowered the zipper. “Always be prepared.” 

“Were you a Boy Scout?” I was feeling hot and over dressed and pulled my shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. 

Bucky looked away for a moment, an expression tossing his face lightning fast that I couldn’t decipher, before looking back at me and pushing his jeans down over his hips. “Nope.” 

Couple things I noticed 1) Bucky didn’t have underwear one and 2) he was hard as hell, uncut and hung. I was very glad he wasn’t expecting to fuck me with that thing. He kicked his jeans to the side, managing to take his socks off at the same time and stood before me completely naked and unabashed. 

“If you’re worried about hurting me, though,” he said, nabbing the pack of lube and rounding the bed. He crawled onto the mattress behind me and I turned to keep him in my line of sight. I had no idea what he had planned, but I didn’t want to miss any of it. Half reclining against the headboard, Bucky spread his legs, planting his feet flat on the bed. Not breaking eye contact, he opened the lube, squeezed some on his fingers before setting the rest of the package aside, and brought his fingers down between his legs. His other hand circled his dick, stroking it, the head peeking out from the foreskin on the downstroke, while his lubed fingers reached behind his balls to circle his entrance. I could tell the moment he made contact and pushed inside because his head fell back, a filthy moan tumbling from his lips, and his hips bucked up, pushing his erection into his fist. “I can take care of this part.” 

My mouth went dry and I started panting as I watched him finger himself, first with one then two fingers. Opening himself up to take my cock inside him. If this wasn’t the hottest fucking thing I’d ever seen… 

My dick was pressing uncomfortably against the fly of my jeans, so I unbuckled my belt with shaking fingers and popped the button open. When the zipper slid down, I moaned in relief. Bucky’s eyes fluttered open, his eyes burning like two blue flames, running up and down my bare chest and the open fly of my jeans. “Take off your pants, Stevie,” he told me, voice going impossibly deep and making me even harder, a feat I thought was impossible at that point. “I want to see you.” 

I stood, pushing my jeans and underwear down, letting them drop to the floor. I wasn’t as talented at getting undressed as Buck seemed to be so I had to sit to take my socks off. Bucky chuckled even as he moaned, pushing a third finger inside his hole, fucking himself with them. 

The hand that had been stroking Bucky’s cock released its hold and was held out to me. Beckoning. “Come here.” 

I couldn’t have ignored that mix between a plea and a demand if I’d wanted to. Crawling up from the foot of the bed, I didn’t stop until I reached his lips. Fingers delving into his hair, upsetting the perfectly messy bun, I claimed his lips. The kiss was hot and wet and our tongues were battling for dominance, when I felt fingers ghost along the shaft of my dick. I threw my head back, panting. Why did that feel so  _ good _ ? “Fuck,” I groaned, when he took my erection in a firm grip, stroking it. The motion of his arm where it pressed against me sped up, which meant he was thrusting the fingers in his hole faster. 

“Oh, hell, yes,” he said, like jerking me off was the best thing he’d ever done. “I need you to fuck me. Please, Steve,” he begged, pulling a deep deep breath into his lungs, lips parted, pupils blown so wide there was almost no blue left. For a second I blinked and thought his irises actually were solid black, but shook it off for nonsense. 

Moving away from him, even temporarily, felt like torture, but I sat back on my heels to grab the condom from the foot of the bed. Ripping the package open with my teeth, I pulled it out and smoothed it down my length. 

Bucky pulled his fingers from his hole and scooted down the bed, hooking his hands behind his knees. It spread him open, put him on display for me, and I had never wanted anything more than to push my dick inside his pink hole, while his cock leaked pre-cum all over his abs. 

“What are you doing to me?” The question was rhetorical, I didn’t care what the answer was. I leaned in to kiss him again and lined the head of my cock up to his hole and… sank into paradise. 

There was no other way to describe it. I had to break the kiss, a guttural moan falling from my lips as I pressed forward until I bottomed out. I fell forward, catching myself on my hands so I didn’t crush Bucky, but it still pressed his knees closer to his chin and the angle must have shifted because a breath shuttered out from his chest, one hand reaching behind him to grip the head board. “Right.. right there. See, you won’t hurt me. Fuck, Stevie, please.” 

I shifted my hips back, then snapped them forward. My range of motion was a bit hampered in this position, but Bucky seemed to be enjoying it and my dick had never felt better. Bucky released his grip on his knees all together, wrapping his legs around my hips, the hand that wasn’t gripping the headboard moved up around my shoulder. 

My thrusts were still short, Bucky’s legs preventing me from pulling out too far, but he stared meeting them and my hips slapped against his ass. The nails of the hand on my shoulder dug in, digging in deeper than I thought they should be able to and making me wince, but I forgot about that when Bucky clenched his inner muscles around my cock, making my rhythm falter.

“Don’t stop, Steve,” he said, letting go of the headboard to pull me into a kiss. 

Sweat was beading on my skin and I couldn’t seem to catch my breath, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. It felt too good and I needed to come. I wanted Bucky to come, too. Needed him to. I wanted to watch him come apart more than I wanted my own orgasm. 

I managed to wedge one of my hands between our bodies, curling my fingers around his dick and stroking it in time with the thrust of my hips. It was different than touching my dick, the forks I that stretched over the head smooth and making the glide of my hand easier. 

“Steve, yes,” he said, and he kept talking but I couldn’t make out the words. There was a ringing in my ears getting louder with my impending climax and they sounded like a foreign language. 

My vision started to white out around the edges and with one more push forward into the tight heat of Bucky’s body, I came. I could feel him tighten around me even more, prolonging my orgasm, milking me, and he spilled over my fist between our bodies. I think I blacked out for a moment because the next thing I knew, I was crushing Bucky under my full weight, my face pressed into the mattress by his left shoulder. 

I slid from his body with a mumbled apology, and flipped over onto my back, just managing to reach a hand down to make sure the condom didn’t slip off my deflating cock. I usually had better sex etiquette than this, but my body felt heavy, like it was weighted down with lead. 

I let my head flop to the side and noticed for the first time that Bucky had a red star tattooed on his left shoulder. With some effort, I got the condom off and tied and let it drop to the floor. I didn’t have the energy to get up and toss it in the trash. But I did manage to lift my arm enough to trace a finger over Bucky’s tattoo. 

“What’s the star mean?” Wasn’t there normally a meaning behind tattoos? I didn’t have any myself, but I think that’s what I heard. Bucky had been relaxed, collapsed against the pillows beside me, catching his breath, but at my question he stiffened. Okay, maybe it wasn’t something he liked to think about anymore and couldn’t afford to get it removed or covered up? Or maybe I should have just kept my big mouth shut. I might not have experience with one night stands, but I knew they didn’t normally involve pillow talk and getting-to-know you chats. 

“It’s for a… group I’m in,” he told me, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. 

“What, like a gang?” I tried to make the question a joke, but Bucky didn’t reply and his shoulders curled in a little. I frowned at the line of his back. “Are you in a gang?” 

Jesus, maybe he was supposed to rob me tonight. Pick up a poor schmuck and fuck him til he can’t move then steal all of his stuff. I couldn’t work up too much of a panic—though I probably should because I really couldn’t move much and that wasn’t normal—but I didn’t think Bucky wanted to hurt me. The man looked at me over his shoulder, looking sad. “Not the way you’re thinking,” he said and stood. 

“Buck, what do you mean? Are you okay?” I tried to sit up, too, but fell back, groaning. My head hurt. Had I been drugged? Again I couldn’t really manage to work up the ability to care. Not about that. 

When Bucky came over to the side of the bed where I was laying, his jeans were back on, but unzipped with the belt left open, and the rest of his clothes were clutched in his fist. He pushed my sweat dampened hair back from my forehead. He didn’t respond to my questions, instead he said, “You’re going to be tired for a few days. I’m sorry, Steve.” 

I managed to raise my arm enough to grab his wrist when he moved to walk away. I looked up at him intently and I wasn’t sure why I said what I did next, but as needed to say them. “Don’t go.” 

Bucky smiles, but it wasn’t the sexy smiles from earlier; this one was sad. He pressed a kiss to my forehead and pulled the comforter up from the foot of the bed, draping it over my body. “You’re sweet, Steve. Too sweet for me. I wish I could stay, but that’s not how it works.” 

“How what works?” I didn’t understand any of this. My eyes were starting to drift shut, however, so I didn’t know how much longer I was going to be able to keep up my end of the conversation. 

“You’ll forget about me, Steve. Don’t worry.” His voice sounded muffled. 

“I could never forget about you, Bucky,” I mumbled, sinking slowly into sleep. 

I felt lips press against mine, there and gone. “You will, Steve. They all do.” 

I wanted to reassure him I wouldn’t. I didn’t know who these “all” were, but I was nothing like them; he had to know that. I tried to open my mouth and get the words to come, but everything went dark and I fell asleep between one heartbeat and the next. 

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who is reading my other fics, I swear I’m still working on the next chapters for them. I just couldn’t shake the plot bunny for this. 
> 
> And I intentionally left if open for a possible sequel if I feel like it later, cause there is some stuff happening with Bucky that we don’t get to see because it’s from Steve’s POV. 
> 
> Follow me on tumblr for updates on my writing and random (mostly MCU related) content: DyslexicSquirrel


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